Comfort

The weather on my hikes so often matches how I feel. Last year was cold and gloomy, fresh snow on the ground. The air was harsh. We were approaching the 1-year anniversaries that felt so foreign and unfair - baby showers and birth classes and even Reed’s birthday were already weighing on my mind. I was surrounded by memories of how naive I had been the year before. I still found beauty and peace on that cold hike last September, but my heart was ripped open and raw.

This September, things feel different. The sun was warm on my shoulders today. It feels bright and hopeful, and amazingly, so do I. We are getting ready to meet Reed’s little brother, and while I still preface every sentence with if we get to bring him home, not when...I am also able to see how far we have come. This pregnancy has been harder than I can explain to those who haven’t been through a pregnancy after loss, but there are also moments of hope that stick, even in the face of the countless tragedies we know are possible.

Jasper’s mummy told me yesterday, “I see how connected you are to the new baby, and I think Reed gave you that even with how hard this pregnancy is. I see you being even closer to Reed through this baby.” This makes so much sense to me. It is because of what Reed taught us that we have learned to shower this baby in love already, for however long we have him. This pregnancy has been so terrifying and emotional, but when moments of hope and joy sneak through, they feel that much brighter and bigger. This, too, is because Reed has taught us how to notice those moments, and how to hold tight to each other through the painful ones.

This month was one of the first times I haven’t been hiking on the tenth. By the end of the day, my feet are so swollen I literally can’t squeeze them into my shoes. So, while I had intended to hike yesterday afternoon, I ended up just lying outside and writing in my journal instead, trying not to feel guilty. A little nuthatch perched beside me. I watched it for a while, smiling, and started to notice the chickadees flitting around the branches above me. It was special, a quiet moment in nature just like the ones I find on my hikes each month with Reed.

Still, I went out this morning for a short walk in the woods. It wasn’t perfect, but I have been trying to be okay with not-perfect for a long time. I realized at the trailhead that I had been here before, years ago, and felt disappointed that it wasn't somewhere new. I got tired too fast (this new little boy I am carrying exhausts me embarrassingly quickly). I felt guilt creeping in again...and then Reed found me and reassured me everything was okay. I saw a bench in a clearing toward the end and walked over to take a rest, only to see Reed's name on the dedication plate.

I sat there and watched two little yellow butterflies (a special symbol from Jasper's mummy) playing in the meadow. I smiled, and felt peaceful, knowing that while things will keep changing once Reed's little brother is here, there will always be space for both of them. We will adjust, just like every parent learns to adjust when their second baby comes along.

Since the cold December night he was born, Reed has been helping our little family grow closer together. He has been showing us how to love deeper than ever. And once again I realize how lucky I am to get to call this wonderful little boy mine.